A Picture at the Grocery Store

Sweating, baby strapped to my back.
Three-year-old tugging on my shirt, claiming her belly hurts and she needs the donut she forgot to eat after lunch.
Six-year-old turning random Aldi items into lightsabers.
Seven-year-old clutching his only dollar, begging to buy gum.
This was not a family outing.
This was survival.

I was at the checkout line, trying to keep it together while bagging my groceries—because, of course, it’s Aldi—and just barely holding on. My thoughts were a whirlwind: Don’t lose your cool. Don’t yell. Don’t cry. Just bag. And breathe.

That’s when the woman next to me gently asked, “Do you have one of those phones that takes pictures?”

At first, I wanted to roll my eyes. Another question. Another interruption. Another adult who doesn’t get how hard this moment is.

But I paused. Managed a “Yes.”

She smiled. “May I take a photo of you? With your kids? Right here, right now.”

Confused, I hesitated. Why would anyone want a picture of me disheveled and overwhelmed, just barely getting through a grocery run?

She continued:
“I wish I had photos of myself in the chaos. Doing the everyday stuff. Grocery trips. Bedtime battles. All of it. I don’t remember what made the days hard. But I miss what made them sweet.”

Her voice was soft, but her words struck something deep.
She told me this moment matters. That I matter.
That years from now, I might long to remember the little hands tugging at my pants, the baby resting against my back, the grocery bags, the donut drama. The living, not just the posing.

She took the photo.

It’s not framed. It’s not edited.
But it’s raw, real, and full of love—love that looks a whole lot like exhaustion.

Now, every time I look at it, I’m reminded:
Yes, it was hard.
But it was ours.
And it was beautiful in ways I couldn’t see then.

So if you’re in the trenches, sweat on your brow, kids in chaos, and sanity hanging by a thread—
Don’t wait for the perfect moment.
Let someone take the picture.
Because one day, you’ll see past the mess.
And all that will remain… is the love.